Keep the Nightmares Out
by tore-my-yellow-dress
Summary: She's standing outside court when they take her in for questioning. Post We the Juries.


**A/N- Wow, this is also titled "The Angst of the Angst". Mentions for Tiff. Because this is kind of in the same universe as "Two Feet Standing on a Principle", but can stand alone. Also, it's based on the recent spoilers for Alicia and Diane growing closer, and an idea of how that may play out. Hope you enjoy! **

* * *

She's standing outside court when they take her in for questioning.

She meets the man's eyes, looks at the woman with the gun holster and the cuffs, and she knows what's getting ready to happen, can see it coming from two months back with Marilyn and a video. She knows it's coming, in the deep recesses of her mind, and yet it still takes her breath away when they show her their badges, start talking. Cary is protesting loudly, and their client is making an even bigger scene, questions, voices, no answers, chaos.

"What the hell _is _this?" Cary asks, hands flapping wildly in front of him.

"She probably aided in tampering with her husband's election," someone murmurs to him, and then, then all hell breaks loose. And it's interesting, how she's hardened herself to these passings, has learned with time how to take them on and brush them back. It's a distant reminder of how she was before, some stationary object of a woman, led around with her aged eyes on her cheating husband's arm. Alicia swallows back the discomfort at a hand on her forearm of someone guiding her, God, it's just like it was before- only new lipstick and spicier clothing.

She goes willingly, with the federal agents. Says nothing.

She doesn't see him, but when she hears his voice it's blindingly clear, weaving through all the confusion.

"Stop."

Her head snaps up from where it had been focused on the ground in front of her to the view of him standing there, not three feet away. Deliberately halts.

"I'll represent you, Alicia."

Cary is inserting his opinion, not so far away, until all of a sudden he stops talking.

Will shoots him some meaningful look, and Cary stops talking, and Alicia has no earthly idea what is going on, eyebrows furrowing. "I'm representing you," Will repeats calmly, hard and steel in his voice, like he won't take no for an answer. The federal agent is swearing up and down its just routine questioning, but Will is paying them no mind.

He won't leave her to hang by a noose he threw over a tree branch in the first place.

There's a reason he never took anything to Alicia.

/

Things used to be easy, like when:

He's tracing constellations on her bare midriff, kissing words he'll never say into the crook of her pliable neck. The way in which things come into perspective is hazy, with the streaming light tickling the hardwood floors. And she's spent.

Absolutely wrecked.

She eyes her white oxford. It's wrinkling, crumpled into a mess a few feet from her bed. Mind buzzes a million miles, going nowhere fast, wondering if Peter is sitting across from a sleep mussed Zack and Grace, if there's pancakes and eggs and laughter. The truth is, she's content to lay here, at ease in her own skin. It's been so long since there wasn't a breakfast to make, a permission slip to sign, coffee to drink, so early. It's been a long time since she's had the opportunity to sleep in.

She slept hard, last night. Doesn't quite recall falling asleep, only remembers caving beneath a sturdy chest, allowing herself to fold beneath her covers, sweaty, exhausted.

She did not dream.

She did not dream, and now that she's awoken, naked and tangled up within a man she wants to bury herself in, wants to lose herself in, she can't think of any reason why dreaming would have been necessary. Dreams are where one leaves to escape reality, and as she snuggles deeper into the expanse of his chest, hard and little to no hair, so warm, all she can think is she wants to cherish this bliss.

A month after she and Peter married, she'd sat on a barstool at Jackie's home, penning thank you cards for wedding gifts, when Jackie had told her the honeymoon period would end soon, with the baby on the way. She remembers that she had stared at Jackie with such disdain, aghast the woman would have the nerve. She hadn't been like those other wives, she swore then. Grounded to what truth and statistics of common law are, she found that honeymoon was simply a perception. There had been no Hawaii to cling to. There was cribs and strollers to buy and hospital bills to save for. But a part of her had taken Jackie's words as a challenge.

Made something out of everything.

The babies and the neighbors association and the barbecues. PTA meetings and vacations. All the pretty jewelry. Peter's kisses like habits.

Owen saw, that once. But Owen didn't have all the pieces, really.

She never made love outlast the passion.

Passion was red, dangerous. Love was a home. Love was _anniversaries_.

But that was so long ago, it seems. Long enough ago that with arms around her, caressing the flesh of her hipbones, the curve of her belly button, this, this is precipice of passion, ripe on her tongue. Sweet to taste. And this is rushing. This is all the silly things she spent years throwing to the wayside, passing off as other wives, as wishful thinking. She's done being the good wife. She's done being anybody's wife.

He holds her like a lover. He is putting his hands on her. He is touching her like she will disappear if he stops, never to return. It was like this last night, a steady knock at the door and harsh look in the mirror. She shouldn't have bothered with freshening up her lipstick, in hindsight. It just got everywhere. All lovely and ruined.

Alicia moans softly, voice thick from strain of screaming, of begging, all through the hours of the night before. It's been so long since she's done a marathon, used to just sprints in bathrooms and even that first night, in the Presidential sleep, they'd fallen asleep after only two times.

"You didn't leave last night," she observes. He tenses slightly, unaware of where she's going with the sidebar comment.

"No," Will murmurs warily, pausing his ministrations.

She should hold her tongue. But it's already rubbery, bouncing back from the cellar of nostalgia it's been locked in for the past seventeen years of her life. There are no flashing cameras here. No press and no inhibitions. He is not a judge.

"I'm glad," she whispers.

Will processes the words carefully.

"I-," he inhales sharply, and she can feel it against the hair at the nape of her neck. Alicia shivers. "It's not that this is special."

A beat passes.

Well.

It's a quick death.

The blood drains from Alicia's cheeks, already so pale with her pallor, and she tries to swallow but there's something heavy lodged in her throat. It's only been two seconds, and she should have known better. She is starkly reminded that passion is red, red is blood, that red is those lacy panties she had on for Will last night.

The color of nail polish on Amber Madison's toes, too.

Two more seconds, and Will's words begin to trip out of his mouth.

"I don't mean that this isn't _special, _shit- no, Alicia, I mean-

"Will-

"I respect you," he says sharply, and they aren't looking at each other, _why won't she just turn in his arms and look him at him properly she will never know. _It's not as if this is their twentieth anniversary, and she is sitting across from him at a classy restaurant, and he's saying _this isn't special. _For all she knows, he's saying _you're my underling and we didn't take courses in complication at Georgetown Law._

"I don't walk out on women," Will admits, and in the time it takes Alicia to comprehend what he's saying, her jaw drops. Just an inch. Alicia narrows her eyes and turns a little in his arms, the sheets falling open when she turns to catch a sliver of his strong jaw. His lips are pink, eyes a milky chocolate. She was reckless last night, left a hickey on his collarbone. Despite the pressing on her chest, anxiety baring down- God, he looks good in the morning.

And when she realizes _exactly _what he's just said, it drives something in her.

Bull_shit. _

"Will," his name laced with just a hint of mock. "You're telling me you've never left before it gets awkward?"

"No, of course. Of _course," _he acknowledges, shaking his head. "This isn't a one night stand, though. I-

She kisses him just to shut him up.

It goes to molten quick, their bodies so close, intimate. Will pulls back and twines his deft fingers through her tangled tresses. Talks against her lips.

"I respect you. You know I do, 'Licia."

The sentiment is there, hanging. Alicia opens her eyes slowly, rests her forehead against his and tries to recall feeling this close to anyone in a long time. Can't. She's always known he's a good man, since before he could probably be considered one. She watched him become, once upon a time. Will's reasoning for staying the morning after is probably all upstanding gentleman, and a part of Alicia doesn't even want any more reasoning. Knows it would just make her tongue more flexible. Alicia thinks back to Will blaring Vogue just to irritate her, thinks back to how he hugged her on graduation day, arms wrapped around her neck like a rope, that last time before the fifteen years and the lifetime.

"I know," she nods gently.

Passion is not love, Alicia reminds herself. But if it feels good. And some excuse that is.

A smile plays at her lips. "_Boss." _

They burst into fiendish laughter together, Alicia's mattress shaking with the combined motion. "Will, I'm cold," she tells him frankly, hands snaking between them.

"Hmm," he hums against the tick and pulse of her carotid, tongue swiping gently.

"Warm me up."

He pulls himself on top of her. "Okay. Okay."

/

She holds her breath when the door closes, and suddenly, they are alone together in the interrogation room. "Will," she starts, but he holds up a hand.

Her head is starting to hurt.

"Alicia," he says her name like a declaration, hard and professional, and a memory flashes behind her eyes, a memory of how he'd whisper her name in the darkness like a sacred thing. She opens her eyes and he looks like someone she's never met. And it _hurts. _

"You don't know anything," he assures her, not unkindly, but there's a blankness there, like she's any other client. He's detaching himself, and she knows about conflicts of interests, but this sends something sharp and grinding in her gut, and all at once she wants to stand and scream at the top of her lungs. Wants to explode.

"But _you _do_," _she growls, inserting as much venom as she can. The air crackles and Will looks at her openly, nostrils flaring.

"Yeah," he asserts hotly. "I do. And you know what, Mrs. _Florrick_? Right now, I need you to be a good wife to your husband and deny all knowledge. I'm saving my own ass. Don't think this is all about you."

A part of her clenches, at his words. But she doesn't have time to think about why, to analyze. She curls her lip, instead. "You're the one who released the tape, so why should it matter to you?"

His expression clouds, but she keeps going.

"Peter told me everything, that you knew-

"Peter doesn't know a damn thing," Will snarls.

Alicia's lips come together. She blinks, because she's a skilled enough liar to know when people are lying, and even with the months and the chasms, she knows Will's tells. He's telling the truth with his reaction to the accusation. He's telling her-

The words are quiet, so quiet. "You didn't-

"Why would I?" Will speaks softer too, pensive. Alicia swallows heavily, looks down at her wedding ring. The yellow lighting makes the expensive diamonds dull.

"I don't know," she realizes, studying it. "You hate me, and you hate Peter for your suspension-

"I could hate Peter for a lot of things," Will admits, and Alicia knows where his mind is going, what trail it goes. She bites her lip, but he continues quicker, regains his footing. "But I don't. At the end of the day, if he goes down for this, we all go down."

There's a lull in the conversation, then.

Before he waves for their time to finish, he leans in and whispers:

"Be honest, Alicia. For once, just be honest. You don't know _anything."_

_/_

Diane comes to her at eleven at night, dressed like she's going to a funeral. To the nines, but all black, and there's a joke somewhere about sneaking up to the floor of a rivalry firm in burglar's attire, but it's lost on Alicia when she sees the look on the older woman's face.

"I want to join forces with you, Alicia," Diane tells her lowly, after glancing around to make sure no one is present to witness. There's a Star Wars joke somewhere, too.

"That's ominous," Alicia tries to laugh, but stops at the somberness reign the air takes.

"I'm very serious," Diane purses her lips, sighing. "David Lee and I are ready to make a change. Whether that means hustling up equity votes to merge or…or leaving and joining this firm."

It takes Alicia a good thirty seconds, but then, the only thing that can really be said is-

"Will?"

Diane shakes her head, and that dejected look, like playing tug of war and being through with the blisters, it strikes Alicia hard, like a slap across the face. How far they've come. How fare they've fallen. "Will is out of control," Diane says softly.

/

The special agent reminds her of Howard Lyman, could be his brother.

There's something ironic about it all.

"Did you meet with your husband to discuss the likelihood of him winning at any time during the court proceedings that night and early morning?"

They've been going at this for at least fifteen minutes, and it's starting to drone, and Will was right. Will was absolutely right. "No," Alicia answers, licking her lips.

"But you called him?" the agent prompts.

She thinks back, her eyebrows shooting up innocently. "Yes. To inform him of what was going on and whether or not the ballot box would be ruled invalid."

"Is that all?"

"Yes," Alicia answers, a little testy. "That's all."

"Are you aware that early that next morning, footage from a convenience store was taken by an unidentified source? Footage containing the ballot boxes being moved."

"I have been made aware of that, yes."

Will clears his throat, and there, that's, that's-

"Who do you think would be that thorough? Can you think of anyone?"

Her heart rate climbs.

"I don't know," she answers, a little weaker. It's not noticeable for anyone but Will though, and he eyes her attentively. Adam's apple bobbing.

"Whoever it is," the agent preens, makes Alicia want to throw something, "must think pretty low of your husband. Must have suspected his true colors enough-

"Governor Florrick has yet to be arrested," Will warns sharply. The agent looks at him pointedly, and Will goes on. "This is a slippery slope the agency is operating on. Unless you are going to charge my client, I suggest you-

"Interesting choice of counsel, Mrs. Florrick," the agent cuts Will off, looking at Alicia again. Her mouth slants down, heart beating a mile a minute. Below the table, her fingers begin to tremble. "A former lover, defending you against your husband's newest scandal, seems a bit _slippery, _eh?"

Will stands up from his seat so quickly it skids gratingly, makes her flinch.

"We're done," he says.

And yeah, they are.

/

Three weeks and nearly two months are worlds apart.

It's decided that Diane and David Lee can lobby up enough votes by then, can keep it from Boyle long enough, from the wishy washy equity partners that still cling to Will's every turn, still like bloodhounds waiting for the sniff. There aren't any burner cellphones, but Alicia knows the kind of betrayal that lurks in Diane's veins when they have dinner to discuss certain clients and Diane keeps checking behind her.

Will texts Diane about something, one of those meetings.

She looks down at her phone, and then looks right at Alicia, and there's an understanding, there. They never mean to hurt him. No one ever means to, anyway.

Peter probably never meant to go and ruin everything, but he did.

Maybe intentions never matter at all.

/

They get in his car, and by the time Alicia has her seatbelt buckled, he slams his hands against the steering wheel so harshly she almost, almost gasps aloud. The violence isn't necessary, and it's something that has her fixing him with a knowing stare, looking him over for signs of alcohol abuse or something, because this, this is out of control.

He swears loudly, looking out the window. Goes to start the engine.

"Should I drive?" Alicia asks him, clasping her hands in her lap. "Or are you going to start acting like an adult now?"

Will's eyes could absolutely _burn. _"Excuse me?"

She inhales through her nose, tossing her hair. "Fine. You want to have it all out right here? _Fine_. Why was I left in the dark? Kalinda got that video, and you took it to Peter. That's what I know. Now, explain," she demands, voice all honey and lion.

"I don't have to explain anything to you, Alicia!"

She leans further across the console. "Why?" she shrieks. "Why would you keep it secret at all? Didn't I deserve-

"Plausible deniability," Will growls, his cologne permeating the air, this close. "That's what you deserved. I didn't want it to hurt you."

The words cut like a knife, and suddenly the car is detrimentally cramped, too little space.

She can't breathe.

"Why?" she asks him hollowly, eyes shining. "Why would you even-?"

Will shakes his head, looking forward. There's a raw kind of pain in his eyes, too.

"Because you mattered to me, Alicia."

The past tense is an abrupt reminder, and Alicia runs a hand through her dark tresses, the windows clouding, and it all feels so wrong. It's all so wrong.

"I don't know what to do," she struggles through the syllables, garbling in her mouth. "I don't know how to fix this."

_What do we do?_

"You don't do anything," he explains evenly. "If Peter goes down, everything I did will be null and void. Just let yourself be saved, Alicia. Just this once. Okay?"

It's rhetorical, and he moves to turn his keys when she stops him with her loose lips.

"Will. _Stop."_

Like the way he'd said it in the hallway of the courthouse, it's beckoning. It's reasonable for a request, and he does. Like a sick little puppy, he does.

"Will, look at me."

He does that, too.

"Look at me," she repeats brokenly, all the fight gone.

She drags him by his lapels and presses her mouth against his.

/

They roll down the windows to get rid of the condensation, and the spring chill makes her shiver.

The hotel they're heading in the direction of is discreet enough, and they'd loved this venue, before. It feels like a lifetime ago that she'd pull her car down these streets, ready for appetites to be quelled, for lunch and for happiness, for freedom and hope. She feels so old. But she thinks of sheets that are soft, room service better than most, staff keeps to themselves- she goes over the details in her head because that's how her mind works.

They probably won't even eat, but still. It's not like this is a date, in any case.

They keep their hands to themselves after those first dizzy kisses, and the breeze is blowing through her hair and it smells like rain, and Alicia soaks up the grey.

She lets her hand hang out the window, feels the way the air rushes past her fingers. Hasn't done this since she was a teenager, and she doesn't know why she's doing it now.

Chicago's streets are ugly and beaten down, not as busy as they generally are this time of day. Almost like everyone knows to stay inside.

A storm is coming.

/

The elevator ride up to their room is silent, deafeningly so.

They do not touch, standing as they are, nearly two feet apart.

She tries not to look at him too much.

It feels a little like she's in the process of committing a crime.

/

She doesn't feel good, anymore.

It doesn't feel good when he's got her pinned against the listless sheets, her naked spine, her spread eagled legs. She doesn't moan, just pants, sharp inhales and exhales of breath, and it's intense in the worst way. It doesn't feel like a release of tension when he pins her arms by her head and thrusts inside her deep as he will go, doesn't feel good to whisper his name in his ear, and for him not to make any acknowledgement he's heard her plea, save snapping his hips harder. It's bruising, and she can hear lightning cracking, and-

When Alicia finally wraps her legs around, pulls him _in _like she never, ever wants to let him go, she can hear the rain beating its head against the roof. And she opens her mouth and he opens his mouth.

And when Alicia finally screams as her muscles spasm, Will swallows the sound, takes it from her. Will doesn't make noise of his own, but he does bury his nose in her tender neck. He does kiss her like a lover, and that is something she cherishes, how he kisses her to sleep. Will waits until she falls into unconsciousness, but never goes himself.

Strokes her mussed hair and listens to the steady pound of rain.

Alicia Florrick is still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

/

He awakens to the sound of his phone buzzing.

It's not even five thirty in the morning, by the glow of the digital clock on the nightstand, and he finds the bright screen quickly. Reads the text, still half asleep.

He reads it once. Blinks.

And then again, stomach lost.

And then _again._

Sends a response and put his phone down again, drops it like a bomb. Rolls back over and takes in Alicia, with her bow mouth, with her peaceful face. And he knew it was going to be like this, he knew. He's never the one who ends up with the girl. He's never the one.

And that's okay, isn't it?

It's not like he'd kid himself into believing this could be the beginning, again.

They got one spring. They didn't get second chances.

And that's just life. That's just them. Will almost laughs out loud, face contorting into a grimace of masked questions and never any answers, and it's still drizzling, outside.

He shouldn't do this, but Will lets his arms slink around Alicia's waist, leans in and _inhales. _She smells like she always has, and it makes tears well in his eyes. But Will Gardner knows what goodbyes look like, and this is his. He's a coward and he's always known it.

He shuts the door behind him as quiet as he can, when he leaves.

/

Alicia wakes with an ache between her legs.

A phone is ringing, and she throws an arm out to fumble for the device, pressing it to her ear. "Hello?"

_"Alicia? Alicia, where are you? I've been trying to get ahold of you for an hour."_

She sits up, looks over at the clock and groans. "I'm- I slept in, I'm sorry, what-

_"Will found out."_

She blanches, sucking in air, looks around at the pillows and blankets, and doesn't know exactly what she's trying to find until she understands. She understands.

"Diane," she mutters, voice cracking.

_"He took it alarmingly well. He's calm. He's the calmest I've seen him in months, Alicia."_

She pulls the covers around herself, his scent still fresh.

"I'll be at my office in a little while," she mentions into the receiver, but doesn't necessarily know what she's saying. Alicia is numb.

_"Alicia, are you alright? You sound sick."_

"Fine," the words ghost across her lips. "Talk to you soon."

When she hangs up, she looks over at the bathroom door. A part of her, a pathetic thing, is waiting for Will to walk out any moment. Most men leave, but Will stays, and she looks down at her hands. How they shake and shake.

She wonders why they don't feel as clean as they look.


End file.
